There's More Than One Way To Sense A Killer (Piper Ashwell Psychic P.I. #16)

By Kelly Hashway

Psychic P.I. Piper Ashwell is used to having visions to help her solve cases, but when she tries to read something belonging to the latest murder victim, a blind woman named Isabelle DiMarco, Piper finds herself rendered blind as well.
Without the use of her sight, she’ll have to rely on her other senses to figure out who killed Isabelle and stop the guilty party from murdering someone else. It’s a true case of the blind leading the blind. Piper will need all the help she can get to prove there’s more than one way to sense a killer.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kelly Hashway
• Release date: Jul 5, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005196752

Kelly Hashway

Kelly Hashway fully admits to being one of the most accident-prone people on the planet, but luckily she gets to write about female sleuths who are much more coordinated than she is. Maybe it was growing up watching Murder, She Wrote that instilled a love of mystery, but she spends her days writing cozy mysteries. Kelly’s also a sucker for first love, which is why she writes romance under the pen name Ashelyn Drake. When she’s not writing, Kelly works as an editor and also as Mom, which she believes is a job title that deserves to be capitalized.

Book preview

Chapter One

Not long ago, I only had to worry about myself and my adorable golden retriever, Jezebel. Then I let Detective Mitchell Brennan talk me into marrying him. We’d already been working together for quite some time since the Weltunkin PD utilizes my P.I. agency on a pretty regular basis. Mitchell and I had fallen into a routine, where he respected my need for space and I attempted to act like a normal girlfriend even though I’m anything but normal. Things were fine until my husband decided to get himself suspended from the force for threatening the chief of police on my behalf. Having Mitchell follow me around for the past two weeks and getting no break from his emotions, which come off of him in waves has wreaked havoc on my psychic abilities.

But today…today feels like Independence Day. Mitchell woke up at the crack of dawn and went to the station for his first official day back on the force. I’ve had a smile on my face since the moment I woke up with no one else in my bed but Jez, who was still snoring on Mitchell’s pillow. My face might actually be cramping from smiling so much as I count the twenty-three steps from my office to Marcia’s Nook to get coffee and breakfast for Dad and me. As soon as the bell above the door announces me, Marcia looks up from the register in the café where she’s ringing up a customer. She cocks her head at me and finishes her transaction. Once the woman takes her bag and leaves, I step up to the counter.

You look particularly happy this morning, Marcia says.

Mitchell went back to work today. I shouldn’t sound so happy to get rid of my husband. I know. But I also see why wives complain so much when their husbands retire. Those poor women. Mitchell was like a lost soul being at home all the time. He’s not a reader like I am, and unless I’m curled up on the couch with him, the man has trouble sitting still.

Marcia chuckles and bobs her head. I see. He was driving you crazy, wasn’t he?

Is it that obvious?

She pours me an extra-large toasted almond coffee, my usual. Well, I did notice you’ve bought more books in the past two weeks than usual, and for you that’s saying something. I assumed you were reading to avoid Mitchell.

I swear he had no clue what to do with himself. Even Jez was getting annoyed with him, and Mitchell has always been her favorite person. I used to joke that Jez was Mitchell’s girlfriend. I think she believes that’s true, anyway. Before Mitchell and I got married, Jezebel would get so sad every time he left my apartment. She’s been exhausted because he takes her on so many runs with him.

Mitchell was already in great shape. How much more running could he do? Marcia asks, capping my coffee and pouring Dad’s.

It’s no secret Mitchell is extremely good-looking. Women eye him up all the time, and the extra workouts have toned him even more. Luckily for me, ever since Mitchell and I got together, he makes sure other women know he’s not available. The man has his faults, but loyalty is not one of them. I try not to say it to his face because his ego is the size of a blimp, but I definitely lucked out with him. He’s never once doubted my abilities, and from the very first case we worked on together, he’s learned ways to make it easier for me to not only have visions but recover from them. My strengths lie in psychometry, reading the energy off objects to see the past, present, and sometimes future. The problem is that when I experience visions from the victim’s viewpoint, I take on the victim’s symptoms. It’s landed me in the hospital on numerous occasions. I used to think the effects were just phantom injuries, not really there but my mind believed they were real. My most recent trip to the emergency room helped me see that I can absolutely be physically affected by my visions as well. That part scares me, and it is only going to make Mitchell want to be even more careful every time I try to read an object and spark a vision.

Did I lose you? Marcia asks, waving a hand in front of me.

Sorry, I zoned out.

That’s your defense mechanism when you don’t want to talk about something. So tell me what I can get you to go with the coffees. Marcia is my best friend, after Mitchell. She’s really my only friend other than Mitchell. It’s hard for me to get close to people, but Marcia understands me, and she keeps me caffeinated. She also owns this bookstore and puts aside all the new releases she thinks I’ll like.

Anything recently come out of the oven? I ask, sipping my coffee.

She holds up a finger. I could use some taste testers. Marcia knows Mitchell, Dad, and I love taste testing for her. I made some pecan pie muffins.

I don’t think I’ve ever tried one before.

It’s like a cross between pie and a muffin, so the inside is actually gooey. Are you up for being my guinea pig?

Of course. That sounds delicious.

She disappears inside the kitchen and returns with a tray of mammoth muffins. She boxes up three.

Oh, I don’t think Mitchell will be joining Dad and me this morning. I pause. On second thought, I’ll eat his. I have a wickedly fast metabolism that leaves me bonier than most people despite how much I eat.

Marcia laughs and juts her chin toward the door. The bell rings as someone enters.

No. Don’t even tell me, I say.

Good morning, Detective, Marcia says with a smile.

I don’t turn around. Instead, I count Mitchell’s footsteps as they sound across the floor. When he reaches me, he loops his arm around my waist.

Good morning. He places a kiss on the side of my head.

Marcia is stifling a laugh.

One morning. That’s all I wanted. One morning to myself.

Ooh, what are those? Mitchell asks, looking into the box as Marcia closes the lid.

Pecan pie muffins. You’re just in time, too. Piper hasn’t paid yet.

Mitchell whips out his wallet. Did you find a new book? he asks me. You’ve really been flying through them lately.

So he did notice my excessive reading.

Marcia reaches under the counter. I put one aside for you. It’s a new release that sounds right up your alley, Piper. She puts it on top of the pastry box.

Thanks, Marcia.

Mitchell hands Marcia a fifty. Piper, we need to run. We’ve got a case.

Marcia rings up the order and tries to give Mitchell his change, but he grabs our food and my book and hurries me out the door. No time. You hang on to that, he tells Marcia. He’s always giving her insanely large tips. He told me she deserves them because she works so hard and runs this place practically all on her own, but I know it’s also because Marcia is such a good friend to us.

She shakes her head at Mitchell as we leave.

Is there really a case? I ask him, not sure if he just said that to get Marcia to keep his change.

Yes. I’m not a liar, Piper.

I know, but I also know you’ll do just about anything to tip Marcia.

True, but there is a case, and I even brought something for you to read.

He means read as in with my psychometry abilities. I smile at him. He knows case files don’t do much for me. I need objects that belong to the victim. It’s the quickest way for me to solve a case. You’re learning, Detective.

With a smile on his face, he opens the door of my office for me. He used to hate when I called him Detective, but now that we’re married, he thinks it’s flirting. Maybe it is.

Morning, you two, Dad says, looking up at us from his oversized desk. Don’t even get me started on that subject. He joined my P.I. agency after retiring from the WPD and bought a desk twice the size of mine. It’s humiliating. He claims he didn’t realize it would be that big, but I can tell he loves it.

Hey, Dad, Mitchell says. He looks at the coffees in my hands. Wait, where’s my coffee?

I didn’t know you were coming into the office, I say, handing Dad his before taking a seat at my desk.

Mitchell slumps down in the seat across from me just as Jax, Marcia’s employee and delivery guy, walks in. Good morning. Detective Brennan, I have your coffee for you. I’ve been instructed not to accept payment or a tip since you left Marcia so much money a few minutes ago. She’s tipping me from that.

Ha-ha, I say to Mitchell. I enjoy the ways Marcia tries to get back at Mitchell for over tipping.

Thank you, Jax, Mitchell says, taking the coffee from him.

Jax immediately backs up and hurries out before Mitchell can even attempt to grab his wallet and tip him anyway.

So, what’s the case? I ask, opening the pastry box and handing Dad a muffin before grabbing one myself.

Dad takes a big bite. Wow! What are these? They’re amazing.

Pecan pie muffins, I say before taking a bite myself. He’s right. They’re phenomenal. I text Marcia to let her know and then devour the rest of my muffin. Dad and Mitchell do the same, and the office is silent for several minutes while we enjoy our food heaven.

Once we’re finished, Mitchell opens the case file. The victim is twenty-three-year-old Isabelle DiMarco. She’s a former gymnast. At sixteen, she was at the height of her career. But then she was involved in a car accident. She got hit by a tractor trailer. It’s a wonder she even survived. Apparently, the driver did everything he could to try to avoid her. Luckily, the accident occurred when the truck was driving around a bend at a slow speed. Still, Isabelle suffered severe head trauma. Mitchell consults the file in his hands. What happened to her is called traumatic optic neuropathy. It basically means the optic nerve was injured beyond repair, resulting in irreversible vision loss. Once she recovered from the other injuries incurred during the accident, she returned to her former gym as a coach to help train her younger sister, Valentina.

She coached blind? Dad asks, showing just how impressed he is by that.

Yeah, and she was apparently really good at it, too, Mitchell says.

How did she die? I ask since he’s only told us about Isabelle’s accident when she was sixteen. It’s been seven years since that happened. And there’s no way any lingering injuries caused her death. There wouldn’t be a case for us to solve if that was what happened.

She was found murdered in her home. Cause of death was blunt force trauma to her head. Mitchell hands a paper to Dad, and I’m sure it contains photographs from the crime scene.

Dad looks over the paper before giving me a questioning look. I hate seeing dead bodies. And honestly, if there is a clue in any of the crime scene photos, Dad and Mitchell are just as capable of seeing it as I am.

I discreetly shake my head. I don’t want to see the pictures yet. If I get stumped on the case, I’ll look at them, but for now, I’ll pass.

Did you find the murder weapon? I ask.

No. We’re not even sure what it was yet.

This is where I come in. You said you brought something for me to read. I hold out my hand.

Mitchell reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out an evidence bag. He knows not to touch objects before I read them. I need to sense Isabelle’s energy on it, not Mitchell’s. Her parents said this was her most prized possession. Mitchell holds up the bag so I can see the gold medal it contains. Isabelle won this the night she was in the car accident that took her eyesight. Her parents said she kissed the medal every night before bed.

That’s sad, Dad says. The accident ended what would have been an amazing future in gymnastics. She was on top of the competition when it happened.

It definitely is sad, but it also makes the medal the perfect object for me to read. Good job, Mitchell. I reach for the medal. Isabelle’s energy is all over it, beckoning me to read the object.

Mitchell hesitates. Piper, after what happened last time, I’m not sure this is a good idea. Maybe you should try to get a sense of Isabelle without coming into physical contact with this.

I cock my head at him. You want me to have a vision without touching the medal? Did you forget how psychometry works?

No. I don’t think you should have a vision at all. You just need to get a sense of Isabelle’s energy, right?

That’s pointless, and we both know it. And do what with it? I ask, choosing not to come out and tell him how idiotic his plan is.

Mitchell shrugs and has the decency to avoid my gaze. Maybe you’ll be able to tell if she was scared or thought someone was watching her.

Dad, help me out here, I say, keeping my eyes locked on Mitchell. Tell Mitchell I have to have a vision. Tiptoeing around this isn’t going to help at all.

Dad clears his throat. Pumpkin, I think I’m with Mitchell on this one.

I lean back in my chair and cross my arms. Unbelievable. Why did you bring this case to me if you don’t want my help? Maybe you two should solve it, and I’ll take my new book home to read.

Dad’s phone rings. It’s your mother. I’m going to take this outside and let you two hash this out. He gets up and walks out of the office.

Piper, please be reasonable, Mitchell starts, but I hold up a hand to stop him.

Reasonable is thinking the psychic will use her psychic abilities to solve the murder. If one of us is being unreasonable, it’s you. Mitchell likes to be part of my process by holding my left hand and grounding me during my visions. Maybe I’m playing dirty by asking him for his help, but I don’t see another option. Keep me grounded. You’ve pulled me out of visions before. I trust you to do the same for me now.

He shakes his head. I can’t believe you’re trying that trick on me.

It’s not a trick. We’re a team, aren’t we? I hold up my left hand so he can see my wedding ring. Isn’t that what this means?

He reaches forward and laces his fingers through mine. I will rip that medal out of your hand the second anything looks off to me.

Deal. It’s the best I can hope for with him.

With his free hand, he unzips the bag and dumps the medal onto my desk.

I take several deep breaths and focus on the energy I can already feel rolling off the object. Mitchell squeezes my left hand, signaling he’s here for me. I close my eyes as my fingers wrap around the medal.